


Letters To My Love

by Velasa



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Bosselot, Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-02 00:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6542344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velasa/pseuds/Velasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Bosselot drabbles spanning the 50 years of their relationship, sometimes with art.  Spoiler warnings for specific games will be provided at the beginning of each chapter as necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Excerpts from a Graveyard Scene

**Author's Note:**

> Excerpts from a Graveyard Scene (2014) The first Metal Gear thing I wrote, part of a conversation between two old soldiers after the war is over.
> 
> Spoilers for MGS4.

“Do you… know where they put Adam. If he’s been buried yet.”

From beside him Solid- no, David, his name was David- stared back in confusion. It took John a moment to realize why and he would have laughed if he didn’t feel so short of breath. "Ocelot. Is his body still around.“

"The last I heard they took it to a lab to study… whatever the hell happened there.” David answered in a voice that sounded like it had rolled through gravel. It’s the cheap American cigarettes that did that, John thinks to himself, and even though he never wanted these sons he feels a pang of regret that he could have taught them better. Good Cubans would have treated him better. "Why?“

"I’ve done precious little for you to be asking favors, and I doubt they’ll allow it even if you did ask.” Damn he wished he’d brought the cane. No one who would have laughed at him for it was still alive after all, and pride was a moot point when you were dying. There was more weighing him down than just the age of his bones and the years of disuse. These things hurt to say. "But I want him buried next to me.“

And there it was, that look of confusion again. Of course he didn’t know. John smiled despite himself. "He spent fifty years following me and I did a wretched job of keeping up my half of that so I owe it to him to save him a place this time.”

“… I don’t know if that’s possible.” David said, standing as stiff and uncomfortably as seemed possible. He had only known the man as an enemy and madman, not the ally fighting at his side or the lover in his bed or the friend who’d given up everything he had ever been only to miss each other by hours. Knowing that hurt John more than anything. "…..But I can ask.“

Good, it was done. John let out a shaky breath and his voice softened as he spoke. "Thank you. I know you have every reason to hate both of us but he meant more to me than anyone but his mother. I have to at least try to catch him one last time.” _That_ part David caught onto but John didn’t feel like explaining it further, raising a hand and shaking his head. Not… now. Talking about Adam hurt enough as it was, but The Boss… there was only so much strength left in his bones and the man President Johnson had named Big Boss had never had enough to carry the weight of what she had been to him on his shoulders.

There wasn’t much left to say but he wasn’t done yet, as old memories rose to the surface: Rokovoj Bereg, fifty years ago, ice blue eyes set in a wickedly handsome face that only seemed to get sharper when he smiled. "His name was Adamska. I’m the only one left that remembers that, except for you now. I just wanted someone to know that. Men need names, David. Don’t let yours be forgotten.“


	2. Sewing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sewing (2005) Inspired by a commission from P-Sebae.

Sewing one handed is never easy. One only does it when there isn’t another option. Like when you needed one hand to hold something down, or when the other had been forcibly removed from your body by a goddamn ninja… It makes every step harder. The line gets tangled and you can’t fight the knots out and it wastes exorbitant amounts of thread. You have to fight to pull the needle through and keep the material from moving and bunching up on you and ruining the seam. It never looks clean. You keep pricking your now-useless right arm with the needle and there are spots of blood welling on a second shirt and you only brought so damn many of the things because you didn’t anticipate this. You don’t have the precision you’re used to from every damned aspect of your life; your hands are tools, refined to perfect working order and delicate motions over _decades_ and then it’s all taken away from you in an instant by some bastard spoiling your fight-

And while you’re pissed about the arm, you’re more upset about the coat because that was _John’s damn it._

The repair finishes but it looks like shit. You don’t wear it again until you’ve left Alaska and have the tools to do it cleanly.

 

 

 


	3. Patriot Christmas Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patriot Christmas Party (2007) Rosemary talks to a kindly old gentleman at the bar. My MGSSecretSanta gift for mobiussquadron.
> 
> Spoilers for MGS2

The ‘company’ Christmas party was a tradition for the Patriots started by Big Boss himself.  Unfortunately, the party had stuck around much longer than its founder.  Few of the current operatives remembered those days; most of them hadn’t even been alive in 1970.  That suited Revolver Ocelot just fine. One of the benefits of all your peers being gone- no one knew exactly who he was, or that they should be more careful around the genial old man sitting next to them.

It didn’t take a great deal of coaxing to convince the woman to talk: a pleasant rosé, a kindly expression, and some imaginary facts about his own life.  A few more leading phrases geared to making her want to confide in him and she was volunteering information.

Rosemary had many things to say but it was something she _didn’t_  that caught his attention.  She didn’t have to.  He could see it as plain as day in her face, the shifting of her voice, the way she looked away when she talked about the man she’d been tasked with keeping an eye on.

She’d fallen in love with her target.  A situation he had some sympathy for given his own history.

Adamska mulled over the meaning of it as he nursed the same shot of vodka he’d had most of the night (He was working when he was at these parties.  He hadn’t actually gotten drunk at one since John had left.)   There were already tabs being kept on the young couple so he’d know if she broke from the script and the problem would be dealt with accordingly.  And the plan in the upcoming operation had always been for Raiden to win, but there hadn’t been much concern for if he’d live through it.  Perhaps…

It wouldn’t harm the ultimate goal if the boy survived.  There were a few elements Adamska could tweak, with minimal effort, that would drastically increase Raiden’s chances of living through the final confrontation.  Normally he wouldn’t have bothered, but perhaps it was the season, the whole Christmas mess that John had loved so dearly that was making him consider it.

He’d see what he could do.

 


	4. List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> List (2014) A very short musing because it hurts me.
> 
> Spoilers for MGS4

These are the sacrifices you make for love

The color red. The spurs, his boots, all his western affectations. His gloves. The coat he pulled from the ashes of Zanzibarland.

His last remaining friend. His name. His guns.

His freedom. His identity. His mind. His life. Everything he was or ever could have been. The chance to see John one last time.

 

 

 

 


End file.
